Making the Best of It
by LouLaBelle13
Summary: Picks up on the end of the finale. Sam and Andy try to figure out what happens next, but of course the world won't let them be exactly "normal." Rating changed in view of other T stories!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: One good thing about having to wait until June for new RB is that we have soooo much time before cannon smashes all our work to smithereens. So I thought I'd add my own take on what happens next :D**

**Disclaimer: As much as I would love to own Sam Swarek...I don't. **

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><p>Sam senses his boss's tension and drops his grin. "Frank. It's me."<p>

Best looks at him sadly. "I know. That's the problem." Sam takes a deep breath and braces himself for what he knows comes next.

"So we're clear, Sam, on what's happening and what the expectations are?" Best finishes his lecture (which had been preceded by a screaming shit fit—not that it was unjustified).

Sam nods his already hanging head. "Yeah, yeah. I got it." Takes a moment to figure out how the best way to ask what he has to. "I know that the misconduct means I can't talk to McNally while I'm suspended. But I was hoping I could have a day, maybe two, before that starts." When Frank opens his mouth to respond with hard eyes, Sam feels a "no" coming and cuts him off. "Frank. I need—" Voice catches. Clears his throat and tries again. "After the past 24 hours, I can't go home alone."

Sam stares at Frank, trying to telegraph what he cannot say: that he's not as okay as he's pretending, that he was scared for her, scared for himself, that he needs to feel her in his arms. He knows Frank would understand, but they're cops and they're men and they don't say these things. So he let's them into his eyes and hopes Frank can see.

Frank sees. "Fine. But Swarek, you have 48 hours and then no contact until you're reinstated." He softens then. " I really am glad we found you."

* * *

><p>He's sitting in his truck, watching for Andy and willing the heat to kick on. He's momentarily grateful that he had the foresight to meet Boyd at the station all those many weeks ago so he has his truck here now. Now all he has to do is get Andy in it.<p>

After a lifetime of second-guessing, he sees her exit the building, head down, shoulders tight. He throws the truck in drive and pulls up next to her. When she looks up at him, he sees something in her eyes that relaxes him just a little bit. "What happened?"

"I got suspended." She steps closer. "You?"

"I got yelled at. _Then _I got suspended." He reminds himself of a different conversation about holding babies.

A thousand thoughts flash through her mind and reflect in her eyes, but she must not know where to start because she says his name instead.

He offers (in a voice much more confident than he feels, he thinks), "You wanna try being normal together?"

She rewards him with a smile. "And how do we do that?"

He doesn't know the magic words, the ones that answer her question and all the questions she's not asking. So he goes with the truth. "I dunno. I have no idea." His heart tenses painfully until she smiles again and opens the door.

She's quiet for a few minutes (which of course makes him nervous because she's never quiet) and plays with the air vents. Finally it spills out in a rush. "Sam. You know I want to be here, but we can't. We _really_ can't. Like, lose-our-jobs-can't."

"Andy."

"I know you love this job as much as I do—"

"Andy!"

"—and I can't let you—"

"McNally!" She stops. Looks. "I talked to Frank. We have 48 hours."

She frowns. "But why? I screwed up. Like, cosmically. I deserve whatever they throw at me."

He sighs and gets his T.O. voice, the one he uses to explain painful lessons learned and then tell her she's a good cop anyway. "We need 48 hours—_I_ need 48 hours, first of all. Second of all, we both screwed up. But we also got lucky. We got our guy, and, yes, the whole operation went to shit, but that—" he looks at her "—that was not your fault."

She turns fully toward him, ignoring that they've stopped in front of his house. "Yes it was, Sam!" When she takes a breath to start listing the reasons why she should be blamed for everything from his beating to global warming, Sam cuts in.

"Can we argue about this tomorrow? I'd really just like to go to sleep right now."

Andy raises her eyebrows at him. "Did you really invite me over here just to sleep?"

He grins and leans in to kiss her. "Yeah. Isn't that noble of me, or something?"

She laughs against his lips. "We'll see," she says doubtfully.

* * *

><p>She really had envisioned just falling asleep holding each other, but apparently being tortured revs a guy's libido. At least, that's the explanation she'd use if she wanted to feel noble. But the truth is, when Sam pulls her into his arms and she feels his body against hers, something uncoils within her. The attraction she feels at this moment is unlike anything she's ever experienced. Maybe it's backlash from all the worry or maybe she finally realized something when she thought she lost him. She'll figure it out later because now is not the time for <em>thinking.<em>

She melts into him and they hold each other for a short eternity. Then she lifts her face a bit and presses a kiss to his jaw. When she goes for a second, his lips meet hers. Their kisses turn serious quickly and her fingers grip his shoulders (where she's pretty sure he's not injured) and the upper part of his broken arm wraps around her neck and his good hand presses her closer. They kiss, not fast, but _intense_, and her emotions—or maybe his emotions—so overwhelm her that she feels faint, honest to God, and they push at each other like they're trying to occupy the same space.

When he pulls back, she gives a little sob, partly because she misses him already but also from _relief_—she doesn't know how much more she could have taken (and they're just _kissing_, for chrissake.)

Sam looks in her eyes as he takes her hand and she sees he's just as affected. This makes her feel better, braver. Ready for more. Which is good because he's tugging her back to the bedroom. Then he's kissing her again, good hand sliding up under her shirt and she helps him lift it over her head. She sees the problem undressing poses for a person with one functional hand, so she quickly discards her bottoms while he opens her bra one-handed. Before he can get too into ogling a naked McNally, she pushes him back until he sits on the edge of the bed.

His eyes lock onto her chest and he fights a smile (not hard enough, in her opinion). "We forgot to turn on the heat."

Her eyebrows go up again. "Do you want this to continue?" After he nods, "Then shut up." She brushes her fingers across the gash at his hairline, mood sobering. "Oh Sam." When their eyes meet, many important things pass between them, all boiling down to how grateful they are for one another in this moment. He silently begs her and she wordlessly agrees not to ask any questions, at least right now.

She oh so gently undresses him, fingers ghosting over bruises and cuts. He leans into her touch, eyes closed and uncharacteristically vulnerable, so she removes all traces of sadness from her expression. But she cannot help the hiss that escapes when she sees his leg. She's kneeling to pull everything off at his feet, so she leans forward and kisses the ugly bruise blooming over his thigh. His hand smoothes down the back of her head, resting on her neck as she kisses her way back up to his face.

When they kiss again, the intensity hasn't lessened a degree and her need for him threatens to overwhelm her. Her eyelids flutter in an attempt to maintain consciousness as she follows him up the bed. She's lying on his chest, knees on either side of him. He kisses her hard and she clutches at him with shaking hands. She's breathing fast and shallow and swears she's melting into him. Then he's _inside_ her and they're pressed together from hips to forehead, looking in each other's eyes and breathing each other's breath. And for the hundredth time she thinks how _intense _this is. After a long, perfect moment of just _being _a part of each other, Andy shifts her hips. She doesn't sit up and she doesn't break eye contact. She keeps moving until she's driving them both crazy. Sam's hand squeezes her hip and when he whispers her name, she breathes it in. Her motions become frantic and they both spill over the edge in a burst of light.

When they come back down, Andy rests fully on top of Sam with her knees drawn up on either side of him. She pants into his neck and can feel his voice rumble when he is finally able to speak. "Ho. Lee. Shit." Andy nods in agreement. She enjoys the feel of his hand running across her back until she gathers enough strength to roll to the side.

They look at each other for a bit longer. Finally, Andy (of course it's Andy) breaks the silence. "Sam. That was…" shakes her head because the words she was going to use are inadequate. "I've never felt anything like that before."

Saying that, on top of what just happened, makes her feel more exposed than walking into parade naked. But she's not surprised when he steps off the ledge with her. "Me neither." And he kisses her, so softly and sweetly that her eyes drift closed. He chuckles and pulls her into his chest. "Sleep, Andy."

"_You _sleep," she mutters belligerently (and sleepily). "You're not the boss of me."

He laughs. "I'm going to sleep too," he assures her. When she doesn't respond, he pulls back to look at her face. She's asleep. He presses a kiss to her forehead and closes his eyes.

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><p><strong>Please, please let me know what you think. I have part of the next 48 hours written if you all would like to read more. I also have an idea for a longer story with actual plot if people are interested. As always, let me know what I need to do better! <strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you so very much to those of you who have reviewed, favorited and added alerts. Quite honestly, hearing that you all want to read more is the only thing that motivates me to keep writing. So please, take a second to tell me you want more (if you do). If you have a whole minute, please let me know what's working and what isn't. This really is for you, so I want it to be something you like. Also, this chapter was getting out of control, so I cut it off earlier than envisioned. I promise there is plot coming eventually but, for the love of God, can't they be happy for a little bit? So I hope you enjoy this McSwarek lovey time.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Sam Swarek, I would not be sharing.**

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><p>In addition to never turning on the heat, they also never closed the blinds, so when Andy wakes, she can see that the sky has barely started to lighten. So she wonders what woke her. Then she feels Sam jerk against her. Granted, she's only spent one night with the man (well, now two, she thinks, glancing at the sky) but she suspects this isn't normal for him. Her suspicions are reinforced when she notices the sheen of sweat covering his body. When his jaw tenses and he jerks again, she nudges his shoulder. "Sam," she whispers. "Sam, wake up."<p>

His eyes open wide for a moment before they focus on her. He groans and closes them again, wiggling closer to her. "Why did you wake me up?"

She studies his face as she answers. "You were having a nightmare."

He smiles, eyes still closed. "_I _know I was having a nightmare. How did you?"

"You were jerking around."

His eyes open. "Oh. Sorry."

The look she gives him says he's stupid for apologizing. "Was it about yesterday?"

He sighs and rolls onto his back. Stares at the ceiling. "Yeah, it's not unexpected."

"I am so sorry, Sam." She cuddles into him.

"Andy," he growls, like a warning. "I don't want to argue about this right now. I just had an amazing night. I'd like to enjoy it for a little longer, if that's okay with you."

"Fine, fine," she pouts. Then she grins. "An amazing night, huh?"

He shrugs. "I mean, it was pretty good."

She climbs up and sits on his hips, arms on either side of his head. "_Pretty _good?"

He laughs and snakes a hand under her hair, pulling her down. "Okay, okay. _Really _good. Pretty fucking fantastic, actually."

She nods enthusiastically, nose brushing his face. "That's what I thought."

* * *

><p>Sometime later, they're lying together, touching lazily. "As much as I love this," Andy begins, "we do have a lot to talk about and not a lot of time to do it in."<p>

Sam sighs and stretches. "Alright. Fine. Where do you want to start?"

"Breakfast!" Andy declares, bouncing a bit.

He cocks an eyebrow at her. "Breakfast?"

"Yes!" Seeing his doubtful look, she leans on his chest, toys with a nipple (hey, you gotta work with what you got, right?). "Come on. I doubt you have any food here. So we'll go out for breakfast—it'll be like a date. You'll pay, I'll pretend like I'm not putting out later. It'll be fun. Plus, this might be out last opportunity to have a date for a while."

"Okay. I just have two questions. First, so we're agreed then? After our grace period, we won't have any contact. And then…we'll try this out?"

Andy nods shyly. "Yeah. I really, _really _like this. A lot. But even if I am tempted to risk my career for it, I think getting fired would ruin whatever we've got going on." She ducks her head. "Ialsoreallylikebeingacop."

Sam laughs. "Me too, McNally. But I think you should know: as soon as we're reinstated, I'm going to be all over you. I want this."

"Good. Maybe you'll bring a bit of that JD chivalry. That'd be nice."

He lifts his head, mock-offended. "Hey! I am chivalrous. Just now, did I or did I not make sure you finished first?"

Andy kisses him, giggling. "Okay. You are an officer _and _a gentleman." She loves the laughter mixed in with their lovemaking. She wonders if it comes from the friendship they built before getting physical. No matter why, she's grateful. "And what is your next question, good sir?" she asks loftily.

He rolls his eyes. Then smirks. "What were you planning on wearing for the next 36 hours?"

Andy's eyes widen as she remembers. "Crap! I don't have anything here. Am I really going to need clothes?"

Sam grins some more. "I would like to take you out at some point, yes."

"Um, well then. I don't suppose you'd mind running by Traci's before breakfast?" She puts on her best I'm-adorable-and-you-can't-say-no-to-me-face.

"You can take my truck while I'm in the shower. If you want."

"Would it be too sappy if I said that I don't want to waste time being away from you?"

"It might be. What else you got?"

"Well," she begins, propping her elbows on his chest, "I could also go with I'm worried you'll fall in the shower, being an invalid and all."

"Oh?" he says, looking pleased. "Does that mean you're going to give me a sponge bath?"

She hops out of bed and grabs his shirt. "Nah." She pulls it over her head as she talks. "But I will call 911 if you're not out in thirty minutes. The fire department might come. They'll get to see you naked." She saunters out of the room in search of coffee.

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><p>Sam enjoys the sting of the hot water on his cuts. It anchors him to reality, something he desperately needs because the past day has been beyond surreal. Between the scene at the farmhouse and Boyd's betrayal and waking up with Andy in his bed, his life has been resembling a made for TV movie.<p>

He takes stock of himself as he washes. Having Andy in his life for the foreseeable future definitely goes in the plus column. He is sore and still tired, but all things considered he doesn't feel too bad. And if maybe he's being careful to keep his face out of the water's spray, well then, that's not something he has to look at too closely.

He's thinking this when he hears the bathroom door slowly open. He pretends not to hear her sneak across to the shower (it reminds him of playing hide and seek with a toddler) and instead turns his back to where he knows she'll enter. He knows this way his (second) best asset will be on display. And she'll be lulled into a false sense of security. Sure enough—

"Yum," she purrs while pressing into his back. Before her hands can slide around his hips for whatever devious task she had intended, Sam slips a soapy hand in between her legs. She shudders at the unexpected contact and stutters out his name.

He hums an inquisitive noise while he pretends he doesn't have two fingers hooked against _that _spot while his thumb works that _other _spot.

"S-s-saaaaam," she half moans, half whines.

He turns around, never fully breaking contact. Looking at her dilated pupils and bite-swollen lips, he gives a dimpled grin that says just how pleased he is with himself.

"How did you react so quickly?" she asks. Or she tries to, but the question gets broken up as she shudders and gasps some more.

He makes a disapproving noise. "You should always be prepared for the ambush, McNally." Although, to be perfectly honest, that lusty expression on her face, with the half-closed eyes and open mouth, isn't doing wonders for his, um, preparedness. He leans forward to whisper a few more things she should be prepared for. He lets his lips and tongue brush her ear and his efforts soon have her shaking and biting into his shoulder.

Before she can come too far back down, he wraps his good arm around her waist. He has every intention of picking her up and pressing her against the tiles so he can bite into _her _shoulder, but she manages to slide away from him. He has to admit (at least to himself) that he's impressed at how fast she recovered. But he's less impressed when she says, "No way, Sam. You have one arm, one and a half legs and I _know _you're sore. I'm not letting you lift me up for slippery shower sex."

He narrows his eyes and reaches for her again. "You don't think I can do it?"

Andy laughs. "Oh, I think you can do it. I just don't want you delaying your recovery time. I've got big plans, Swarek, and they involve you at your very best."

He gives a wide-eyed smile, clearly liking that idea. He opens his mouth to say something else, but the words—all words—disappear as Andy suddenly drops to kneel in front of him. He feels her breath on his skin, even over the steam from the shower and his body responds of its own accord. She looks up at him with a wicked grin before dropping her head down. He watches her, enjoying her enthusiasm and the glimpses he's getting of her tongue and then she _purrs_ and his head drops back against the wall with a solid "thunk" and his fingers tangle in her wet hair. His hips thrust towards her—even though he'd been willing them to _stay put _because he is damned if he is going to let her win. And then he is. Damned, that is. Although, once his breathing returns to normal and she plants a trail of kisses back up to his neck, he isn't feeling too bad about losing.

It isn't until they're drying off that he speaks. "Well," he says, catching her eye.

"Well," she echoes. And they both smile before leaning in for a kiss that speaks of happiness.

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><p>Twenty minutes later, she's combed and dried her hair with things his sister mercifully stashed in the guest room. She's wearing her jeans and his shirt and she brushed her teeth with a toothbrush he'd given her. (They both keep sneaking glances at it in the holder next to his and fighting goofy smiles when they think the other isn't looking.) When Sam pulls on his leather jacket at the front door, he looks so delicious that Andy can't help the smile that stretches across her face.<p>

He smiles back automatically. "What?" he asks.

She grins and shakes her head. "Nothing."

Sam gives what she thinks of as his the-rookie-is-being-weird head shake and grabs her hand, pulling her out the door. They walk to the truck hand in hand and shoulder to shoulder. Until she tries to climb in the driver's side. "What are you doing?"

"I thought I'd drive, since you only have one hand and all." She says it like it never occurred to her he might object (but of course this conversation is going almost exactly how she thought it would).

"I'm good—I have another hand."

"But Sam," she draws out his name and runs a hand down his chest, "then we can't hold hands in the car." She looks up at him through her lashes and leans in.

"Nice try," he smirks down at her. "Get in the truck."

Once inside, he looks over at her while he starts the engine, like he can't believe she even tried that. "What?" she demands. "A girl's gotta try. I _love _driving this truck."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. It's so big, and powerful, and I love being in control of it." He slides her a look out of the corner of her eye and she groans. "Ugh, don't even tell me, you have something else 'big' and 'powerful' that I can 'drive.'"

His mouth twitches. "You said it. Not me." She smacks his leg, but keeps her hand there until they reach Traci's.

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><p><strong>AN: Next chapter features actual other people! Please drop me a review. Any feedback is appreciated! **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: It has taken an unforgivably long time to get this up. I've really been struggling with it and I didn't intend to cut it off where I did, but once again, things were getting out of control. On the plus side, that should mean the next chapter gets out quicker. I hope you all like it. And a special note to all the lovely Canadians out there: I apologize if anything is un-Canadian. Yours is a foreign culture. If you would like to rectify this situation, hit me up with some Canadianisms. **

**Disclaimer: You know the drill. But if anyone knows how I CAN own Sam Swarek, PM me. Immediately. **

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><p>"Okay," Andy says as she unbuckles, "you stay here. I'll just be a minute."<p>

"What? Why do I have to stay here?"

"Because! I can't go in there and face her mom look with you standing there looking like you just got laid."

"I _did_ just get laid," Sam points out.

"I know! It's—it's just…Traci's going to have a lot of questions and I won't be able to answer them with you there, _looking _at me."

"Fine, fine, whatever." He leans back in his seat. "But you better make it fast."

She leans in for a quick kiss. "Done."

Andy sprints up the steps and is fitting her key in the lock when the door swings open. She unconsciously steps back when she sees Traci's face. "McNally." Andy can't tell if it's a warning, a greeting or a prelude to a lecture.

"Hi, Trace." Andy slips past her friend and makes her way over to her things, Traci close on her heels. "So, um. How are things?"

"Oh, things are great!" Traci says sarcastically, her voice rising. "I _loved _being up all night, worrying about where in the hell my best friend was!"

Andy pauses in changing her shirt and looks at Traci suspiciously. She didn't have any missed calls this morning. Before Andy can call her bluff, Traci says, "Okay, so I saw you get in Sam's truck last night. But that doesn't mean I wasn't worried about you. How could you be so _stupid_?"

Andy zips her bag and stands up, reaching out to grab Traci's arms. "Trace, it's okay. Best gave us 48 hours until the no-contact policy takes effect. So we have until tonight and then, I promise, I won't see him."

"So? You promised me you wouldn't go after him at the Alpine. Then you promised me you wouldn't see him after that."

"It's different this time." Seeing Traci's skeptical look, Andy insists, "It is! Look, this time I know exactly what will happen if I see him so I can't delude myself into thinking it will all be okay. Second, I know it's only for 28 days—which will suck—but it's manageable. Finally—"

"28 days," Traci snorts. "It's like you're going to Sam Swarek rehab."

Andy smirks and continues, "Finally…he said he'll wait for me."

Traci recognizes the significance of this. "He's waiting for you? And you're waiting for him?" Andy nods slowly, eyes wide and lips pursed like she's about to explode. "Oh my gosh! Andy! I'm so happy for you!"

Andy beams as Traci hugs her. Suddenly, Traci pulls back and frowns. "Wait. If everything is so great, why's he out in the truck?"

Andy laughs self-consciously. "Uh, well, I was worried about getting yelled at and I thought it would be extra awkward with him here."

Traci bursts out laughing. "Oh my God, you _are _a teenager. Sneaking in, worried that mom will disapprove of your boyfriend so you make him hide in the bushes."

"Shut up," Andy grins, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "So, I'll see you tomorrow night?"

"Yup. And you're gonna what? Spend the next 36 hours holed up, having sexy time?"

"Well, he's taking me out to breakfast first, but then, yeah. Pretty much."

"Hmmm, well have fun," Traci says suggestively as she lets Andy out. Then, right before she closes the door, "I knew future you was hooking up with Sam Swarek!"

Sam looks at Andy as she gets in the truck. "How'd that go?"

"Fine," Andy says, shoving her bag in the back. "She yelled at me, she laughed at me and then she hugged me. She's happy for me."

"Because you're with me?"

Andy leans over to kiss him. "Yes. And because I'm happy," she says before kissing him again.

* * *

><p>Sam Swarek is a man of action. It's why he never wanted to work homicide—too reactionary. He likes to be out there, making things happen. Which is why waiting on Andy McNally is killing him. She's been studying the menu for twenty minutes and has asked the waitress for "just another minute" four times. (Although, maybe he doesn't mind this kind of waiting. Definitely, if he had a choice…)<p>

"What are you doing?" he finally sighs.

Her eyes stop flicking back and forth between pages and focus on him. "I don't know what I want."

And, Jesus, doesn't he already know that. But he refrains from commenting and says instead, "Yes. You do."

(This conversation is already more loaded than he feels like dealing with. He really _is _just talking about breakfast.)

When she scrunches her nose in disagreement, he goes on, "You're going to order French toast with Nutella and whipped cream and a side of hash browns."

"Oh, I am, am I?"

He smirks. His confidence never waivers, he knows he's right. "You'll order the French toast with all that sugary crap because you're feeling indulgent." (He noticed a while ago that she treats herself to something "chocolatey and delicious" after a particularly good or particularly bad day. He doesn't know which one she's just had.) "You also feel justified by the amount of calories you've burned recently." The dimples flash before he finishes, "And you're incapable of resisting fried breakfast potatoes."

Before Andy can respond, the waitress approaches the table, clearly expecting to be sent away again. "Do you know what you'd like?"

Andy sighs. "I'll have the Nutella French toast with a side of hash browns."

"You want whipped cream?"

"Yes please," Andy says resignedly. The waitress starts to turn toward Sam, but Andy cuts in. "He'll have the corned beef hash, eggs over easy and biscuits instead of toast."

Sam nods confirmation when the waitress glances at him before walking away. Then he quirks an eyebrow at Andy.

She grins over her coffee cup. "What? You're not the only one with keen powers of observation. I'm a cop too, ya know."

"No, no. I'm impressed. I didn't think I was that consistent."

"You're not," she shrugs. "Honestly, if it were any other day, I probably wouldn't have gotten it."

Sam's puzzled face makes her sigh like she wishes she'd kept her mouth shut. "Well, you've _told _me it's your favorite breakfast. But you're usually all health conscious and, well, I noticed that you only order it when you…brush death."

"Really?" Sam never noticed this about himself. That Andy has—well, he likes it.

"Yeah," she confirms. "Last time was after you took down that drug dealer in Cabbagetown, remember, and his partner came in out of nowhere with a gun. I figure it's one of those affirmation of life things. Like how people have sex after funerals."

Sam smiles big. "Well you'd think I'd have life all affirmed by now."

Andy gently kicks his ankle and blushes. "Sam. People can _hear._"

"Ah, so you _are _shy."

"Not shy," Andy defends. "Just private."

The thing is, so is Sam. He's never been one to volunteer information about his relationships, only talking to his friends when directly asked. But this woman. He wants to tell _everyone _about this woman, wants everyone to know she's with _him_. It's a new feeling and he's not quite sure what to do about it.

"So," she says, leaning forward on her elbows, "are we going to have The Talk?"

"The Talk, McNally? What talk? I thought we already agreed to try this thing out. What else is there to talk about?" He can't think of anything else. Really. He's having a hard time even caring about anything else with that little issue settled. But he can always count on Andy to complicate his life.

"Sam." She says it both like a plea and like she wants to wrap him in the sound of it. "What did he do to you?"

They are leaning towards each other across the table, eyes locked. Sam's face is serious, without any cover of bullshit or flirtation. "Andy. Why is this so important to you?"

"Because, Sam. Because—because it should have been me." Her voice catches, but on what emotion he can't tell.

"No, it shouldn't have," he says fiercely. He's aware this is an inappropriately emotional (and horrifying) conversation to be having in a diner, but she needs to hear it. "This. Was. Not. Your. Fault."

He had hoped enunciating would help the words reach her, but she's already shaking her head and her eyes glisten. "He made me. And you paid the price."

"He made _me_." Sam's eyes bore into hers, insistent. "You heard me mention my boat, yeah? Turns out, he knew the boat—it was seized from a guy he knew during a high profile raid. As soon as I said the name, I was done."

It doesn't take Andy long to dismiss this argument. "That doesn't mean I didn't get made and confirm his suspicions about you."

"Maybe you said something that contradicted my cover story, but he already knew who I was. Andy, if he had known you were a cop, he would have taken you. You might have been able to give him his answer or he could have used you to get to me. He had way more reason to take you than not. I am sure that if he had known, you would have been right there with me."

He sees her acceptance of this in the way her face relaxes, so he doesn't go on, doesn't tell her that her not being with him was the one bright spot for him, that his first worry when he regained consciousness what that she _had _been made. Once he realized that Brennan had nothing to gain by lying to him, he had been able to focus on surviving. The situation seemed much more manageable with Andy safe.

At some point during the conversation, Sam had taken her hand and now rubs circles on the back with his thumb. "So we're good now?"

"No we're not good!" she exclaims. "You still haven't told me what happened."

"But we established that it's not your fault. So why do you need to know?"

"Because! This is going to affect you. And I want to help you deal with it. And I want to know about everything that shapes you." She says this last bit shyly, squeezing his hand.

"Okay," he relents. "But I am not telling you this so you can try to blame yourself some more or treat me like I'm suddenly made of glass. I'm only telling you because I want you to know me too." Something passes between them that makes his heart expand and his breath catch. He gives them a second before pushing ahead with the conversation she demanded. "Okay. You know what water boarding is?"

Her brow furrows. "Yeah?" Then she gets it. "Oh. _Oh. _Oh, Sam."

Sam drops her hand and sits back, crossing his arms over his chest. "That's it. I'm done."

"What? No. Why?"

"Because I can't tell you things that make you look like _that_." He gestures to her face, which now mostly looks confused.

"Like _what_?" Andy is completely bewildered.

"Sad. You looked so…sad. And I _hate _seeing you like that and even more, I hate _making _you like that. Which is why I didn't want to tell you in the first place."

Andy sets her chin mulishly and Sam has a sudden flash of a lifetime of stupid arguments because they're both too stubborn to back down. "Well, I don't like seeing you beat half to hell but I look anyway."

He levels a glare at her because that was stupid and she knows it and she knows he knows it. "Fine," she groans. "I won't look sad. But that also means I won't be nice to you just because you're hurt."

He smirks. "I think I can deal with that."

Andy reaches out for his hand and he obliges. "So what happened to your hand?"

Sam glances at it, like he has to look to remember it's so not a big deal, while he answers, "Hammer."

Andy's jaw tightens, but her nonchalant face holds otherwise. "Is that also what happened to your leg?" He nods. "And the other stuff?"

"Some of it is from, uh, my chair falling over a few times. Most of it's from fighting." Sam grins a little, remembering.

"What about your neck? I just noticed it this morning."

"Well, when Shaw came in, I wasn't exactly _winning _the fight." Andy's face tenses and Sam rubs her hand again. "Hey, it worked out. Perfect timing and all that. I'm alive and Oliver gets to be the hero. I'll probably be buying him drinks until I save _his _ass."

Andy half smiles and Sam feels a little better. But he wants a full smile (and a change of subject) so he says suddenly, "You're pretty."

Andy bursts out laughing and holds her free hand palm up. "What was that?"

"It was a compliment, McNally. You should say, 'thank you.'" It's ridiculous how much he likes to make her laugh.

She's getting a hold of herself when she grabs his hand in both of hers. "Thank you," she says in a serious voice. "You're pretty too."

His mouth opens like he's trying not to smile and he looks away, shaking his head. For him, this is practically laughing out loud and it makes Andy giggle. Thankfully, the food arrives before this conversation can get any sillier.

Andy watches her plate while Sam watches her. She's eaten this sugary excuse for breakfast at least a dozen times that he's actually seen, but she is still so excited, like it's somehow taken her by surprise this time. He doesn't exactly hate it, is all.

She starts to shake ketchup onto the potatoes when she catches his smile. "What?" she asks self-consciously, like maybe she's doing something dumb without realizing.

He smiles and says in a low, decidedly unselfconscious voice, "You're pretty."

This time she blushes and looks down at her plate. "Thank you," she says softly.

Sam decides to give her a break and picks up his silverware. "Don't worry—you'll get used to it."

She speaks around her food. "Used to what?"

"Me telling you you're pretty."

The challenge is back in her eyes and she swallows. "Oh, it's going to be happening a lot, huh?"

"Pretty much," he shrugs.

"Well, what if I get ugly? Like, I break my face or get mauled by a bear?"

He takes a second to give her a "What the hell?" face before considering his answer. "I can't see you ever being not pretty, but I guess I'd probably start telling you, you have a nice personality."

"Real nice," she says sarcastically but there's a smile at the corners of her mouth.

As they settle into an unremarkable (for them) conversation, Sam tries to remember enjoying a meal more. He can't. He knows it has everything to do with the woman sitting across from him (currently using the salt, pepper and sugar packets to explain how she and Peck caught a couple guys during a B and E) and the lack of barriers between them for the first time. He's not her T.O., she's not engaged, they're not on borrowed time. And she may or may not have agreed to a relationship with him. Sam Swarek is a happy man.

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><p><strong>Thank you for reading and, please, review. I want to make this better. Love you all. <strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: I am so, SO sorry for taking so long to upload. I just kept writing pages and pages of fluff. So I decided to share it all with you. There isn't a lot actually happening in this chapter, but they kept doing all these things in my head, so...I've got some plot happenings written for the next chapter and I hope to have it up really, really soon. Thank you for reading, reviewing, alerting and favoriting-it keeps me going. I'm really not sure about this, so let me know your feelings, please.  
><strong>

**Disclaimer: If I owned Rookie Blue, I would be getting paid to have Sam and Andy live in my head. **

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><p>Sam paid for breakfast like he said he would and now they're back in the truck. The light, playful contentment he was feeling earlier has disappeared, tensed into something taut that crackles between them. It probably started when he watched her swipe at a puddle of chocolate and then put her finger in her mouth to taste. He maybe didn't help the situation by kissing a bit of whipped cream off her face as they were leaving. Sam's locked both of his hands to the wheel in an effort to behave himself and not act like a hormonal teenager. By the way she's fidgeting, he guesses she feels it too. Then she puts her hands on his thigh and he <em>knows <em>she does. Sam presses the accelerator a little harder.

By the time they pull into his driveway, her hand has slid further north and it's all he can do to stop himself from sliding a little south. The tension levers them both from the car as soon as they stop and the keys are out before they reach the door. Andy's control is fading and she's pressing open-mouthed kisses on the back of his neck. Her wandering hands under his shirt necessitate three tries before the door finally swings open.

As soon as she steps in the door, Sam shuts it and, in the same motion, presses her against it. He gets his good hand on her neck so he can tip her head back with his thumb and the other races up and down her side. He kisses her long and deep and not at all gentle. Andy moans into his mouth and tries to pull him even closer. She tips her head back when he moves to her neck and she gives a strangled laugh. "We are so bad at this."

"At what?" he asks between kisses.

"Being _normal_," she says, only it comes breathy when he nips her ear.

He smiles against her skin. "Do you want to stop?"

"No!" she nearly yells. To punctuate her point, she scrabbles at his belt with one hand while the other threads through his hair.

Sam starts to help her but is once again confronted with one-handed undressing and today he is in no mood to be patient. He wants her naked and he wants her naked _now_. He gives a growl of frustration and reaches around her, grabbing the back of her shirt and pulling it one-handed over her head, hockey-style. He can hear her muffled exclamation and laughter from inside the shirt, but he is not stopping. She wriggles free of the material and rights herself. Her hair's a mess and she's flushed and laughing. She's beautiful and he wants to make all sorts of absurd promises to her. But that would probably stop her laughing so he settles for pressing her bodily against the door. He kisses her again and lifts her off her feet to spin them both around. His hand moves to the clasp of her bra as he walks her back toward the couch. He still feels her giggling a bit so he scrapes his teeth over her thumping pulse and simultaneously brushes a now exposed nipple. She goes rigid for half a second before she's arching into against him, fingers digging into his shoulders. He grabs her hips to him, turns and tumbles back onto the couch, _oof-_ing an exhale when she lands on top of him and wincing.

"That was stupid," she chuckles unsympathetically.

Sam agrees. "I forgot. You distracted me."

Andy is working his shirt up, kissing as she goes. "I don't think that was my fault, but I'll take the blame if it makes you feel better."

"Mmm-hmm." Sam is not listening, he's barely even breathing. He's too busy brushing her hair back so he can see her placing wet kisses on his torso. After a moment, he cups her jaw and pulls her up to meet his lips.

Their kisses turn feverish as they work off their remaining layers. Andy's full (and naked) weight rests on Sam as he explores the inside of her mouth. He runs his hands up and down as much of her as he can reach, cupping them where there are curves. Occasionally she tries to support some of her weight on her hands, but he knocks her arms out each time she does. He likes the warm press of her body weighing him down.

Finally, he lets her get enough leverage to lower herself onto him. She does it slowly and Sam hisses involuntarily. He hasn't done much of anything involuntarily since he was a teenager, but something about this woman pushes the limits of his control. He grips her hips and lifts his head to watch her but she's tilted her head back.

"Andy, look at me." She drops her head but keeps her eyes closed. "C'mon, sweetheart, look at me." She bites her lips and meets his gaze. "That's it," he growls, pulling her down for a kiss. He keeps his hand wrapped around her neck so she can't look away. When her movements become frantic and her nails bite into his chest, he slides a hand down to help her over the edge.

She comes apart with him whispering in her ear—"Good girl. That's it, you're perfect."—and his hands gentle up her back.

"Sam," she breathes, chest heaving against his, "don't stop." But she doesn't seem to be able to help at the moment, so Sam gets a hand under her ass and does the work for both of them. She's caged his head in her arms and presses their foreheads tight, teeth clamped against a moan. She let's little whine escape before urging, "Come on, come on, come _on_." She clenches on him and he does.

Still shaking slightly, Andy lays heavy on his chest and buries her face in his neck. Sam feels her trying to bear down on him and he runs his hands up her body before wrapping his arms around as much of her as he can, as tightly as he can. The vulnerability she shows afterwards, like she's just come apart and needs him to put her back together, triggers all his protective instincts at once. (He thinks he remembers her talking about her distaste for post-coital cuddling, but he's not sure. She was with Callaghan then, so usually he tuned out any and all sex talk.)

After a few minutes, she speaks, her voice muffled against his neck. "Normal people do things besides have sex all day."

His short laugh bounces her a bit. "We're making up for lost time." He says it easily, but he feels the seriousness of it press on his throat.

She looks into his face for a quiet moment, chin resting on stacked hands. "I guess we are." Then, with false innocence, "Of course, we'll have to make up for more lost time in a month, so maybe we should keep practicing so the time off doesn't set us back."

"Yeah?" he drawls, low, eyes on her mouth. He's about to say something dirty but designed to make her laugh when she shivers. Automatically, he rubs her arms briskly and asks, "You cold?"

She shrugs. "A little."

"Alright, hold on." He slides out from under her and heads towards the hall closet.

He's rummaging around inside it but he still hears her incredulous, "You have throw pillows?"

He finds the blanket he wants and heads back to the couch. "Yes, I have throw pillows. Is there something wrong with them?"

She's turning a pillow over in her hands, looking for a hidden compartment maybe. "No—I mean—it's just. Do _you _see yourself as a guy who buys throw pillows?"

He grabs the offending object from her and puts it behind his head as he lies back down. While he waits for her to get situated he explains, "I didn't go out and buy them—they came with the couch. And I like 'em. They're great for watching TV." When she's finally settled (mostly on top of him) he covers them both with the blanket.

Andy eyes the blue walls. "And did the paint come with the house?"

"No," Sam answers, taking in the decorative touches in the room, as if for the first time. "My sister. Since I've never married, she feels it's her responsibility to exert a 'womanly influence' in my life. Her words."

"Does she like doing that kind of stuff or does she wish you were married?"

This line of questioning makes Sam a little bit nervous because he doesn't know where Andy's head's at, but he answers honestly. "She's my big sister so she loves to meddle in my life, but apparently she'd feel better if I were safely married."

"She said that?" she asks like it's unimaginable and Sam remembers that she's an only child.

"No, but she's not exactly subtle. There's a new woman joining us for dinner every time I visit." Andy's cheek rests on his chest so he can't see her face, but he can _feel _her going awkward at that. "I was thinking of visiting her during the suspension, actually."

"Oh. Right. That's a good idea." She tries to be casual but he can hear the tightness in her voice.

He grins at the ceiling and shakes his head at her ridiculousness. "I'm looking forward to calling her with a reason not to invite anyone that she can't argue with."

"And what's that?"

Sam goes to tease her, but she lifts her head and he catches the exposed look in her eyes first. He's beginning to realize she has an easier time believing in his attraction to her than his feelings for her. He knows he'll be walking a tightrope between convincing her he cares (deeply, completely) for her and pushing too hard but he never wonders whether or not to try. He meets her gaze and says simply, "You."

When she smiles, Sam knows that is exactly what she needed to hear.

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><p>A few hours later, Andy and Sam are still tangled together on the couch. They've been watching hockey and talking, learning about each other's lives as their hands idly explore each other's bodies. (Andy is delighted to find a ragged scar on Sam's otherwise perfect ass, the result of a drunken attempt to climb a fence.) Andy has never spent this much time just lying around naked, but getting dressed never crosses her mind. She learns, though, that after she arrested him, Sam came home, got naked, got drunk and remained that way until he had to return to work. She feels this explains his eagerness to strip down in front of her that day. Now they're discussing the guitar she noticed in the guest room. Well, Andy's trying to discuss it and Sam is trying to avoid answering by listening to hockey scores.<p>

"So are you _good_?" she asks again.

"I'm okay," he admits, eyes on the sportscaster. "Good enough to sit in with my friends' band for a song or two, but not great." This uncharacteristic modesty makes Andy think he must be _really _good.

"That is so _sexy_."

Now he looks at her, with a smug smile in his eyes. "_That _is what gets you? That I play guitar? Man, if I had known I would have brought it out a long time ago. But usually the uniform does the trick. I guess you have your own, huh?"

Andy laughs at his teasing. "Hey, I'd be lying if I said watching you be a good cop wasn't completely hot." She closes her eyes and leans into the last two words for emphasis. "I mean, the uniform works differently on women. Noelle says it's like putting on an invisibility cloak."

Sam raises an eyebrow like he thinks she's mistaken. "If that were true, the past two years of my life would have been much easier."

"If it's not true, then why didn't you ever notice Noelle? She's pretty."

Sam looks at her like she's stupid. "Because she'd kick my ass!" Andy bursts out laughing and he adds hurriedly, "Do _not _tell her I said that, Andy. Do not tell _anyone _I said that. Or I'll tell everyone about Bobby Conway."

Andy stops laughing immediately and narrows her eyes at him. "You wouldn't." Sam just tilts his head and she knows he would. "Fine," she sighs. "New rule: no sharing anything that is said while we're naked."

Sam considers. "Deal," he nods. "Except for that thing about me being the best you've ever had—that gets shared."

Andy's brows knit. "When did I say that?"

"Last night. After the first time," he grins. (Andy suddenly knows what they mean by the word "cheeky.")

"I didn't say that!" She swats him on the chest. "I said I'd never felt anything like that before."

"Oh," Sam draws the word out, lifting his chin. He says it like he understands now what she meant, but she knows he's really mocking her. She glares again, suspicious. "So you didn't say I was the best. Well then."

Suddenly, his hands are in intimate places where she was not prepared to be touched. "Sam," she scolds.

His voice is husky. "Bet I can make you admit it."

"Sam! I—_oh_, okay. I, um, guess you can, ah. Try. _Oh!_"

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><p>Andy walks through the living room with a trashcan and a laundry basket, chucking items into the appropriate receptacle. She eyes the remnants of Sam's mixed vegetables before tossing it away with distaste. She scans the room for anything overlooked and catches a scrap of blue sticking out from under the sofa. As she kneels to dig it out (and two socks—not matching), she debates running a load of laundry.<p>

First, she doesn't want to wake Sam. She'd lain in bed for over an hour after she woke up and he stirred not once the whole time. (At once point she actually checked his breathing.) Obviously, the past few days had finally caught up to him and she wants him to sleep as much as he needs. At least that's one way she can baby him. (After dinner last night she managed to coax him into the bath with her. It ended up being a lot less relaxing than she had envisioned. But, um. Totally worth it.) Plus, doing laundry in a man's house—without asking or being asked—seems significant, very "serious relationship." Presumptuous, maybe. Then again, it's the least she can do after sleeping, eating, bathing and living in his home for a few days. Laundry's an acceptable way to say "thank you," right?

Before she can make up her mind the doorbell chimes throughout the house. Andy hesitates for a second, checking to make sure her pajama pants and Sam's T-shirt are appropriate for door-answering (no bra, but whatever) and because clearly it's not for her. But whoever it is starts pounding on the door, prompting a mad scramble and slide to make the noise stop.

She yanks the door open. "Yes?" It takes her a beat to look lower and when she does she finds herself staring at a girl and two boys, maybe eight years old. "Oh."

They seem equally surprised to see her. They all three clutch hockey sticks and look back at her. Finally, the little girl pushes her blonde hair out of her eyes and says, "Is Mr. Sam home?"

"Um," Andy looks back over her shoulder, half hoping Sam has appeared, "he is, but he's asleep."

The boys visibly deflate, but the girl says seriously, "Can you wake him up? It is almost _eleven o'clock_."

Andy tries not to smile. "I'm so sorry, guys, but Mr. Sam really needs to sleep right now. Do you maybe want me to tell him something for you when he wakes up?"

"How long do you think he'll sleep for? Maybe we can wait for him." This from one of the boys, a blonde who can't seem to hold still.

Andy doesn't want to disappoint them again and is considering inviting them in and making hot chocolate (she'll have to beg milk from a neighbor but thinks there's cocoa) when she hears a deep voice ask, "Who's at the door, McNally?"

Andy's head whips around and the three little faces brighten and lean forward to look at Sam. When he catches sight of them on the porch, he flicks his eyes toward Andy before focusing on the kids and smiling wide. "Morning, guys. Why don't you come in for a minute—you're letting the cold in." He holds the door as the kids obediently troop in and nods seriously at each one. "Gracie. Chase. Bob." The last at a chubby-cheeked boy with brown curls.

"Bob?" Andy mouths at Sam over the boy's head. Sam shrugs, palms up before settling on the arm of the couch. Andy picks up the laundry basket and heads towards the washer in the hall closet. (Seeing Sam, she realized, _it's Sam_, not some hypothetical man. So, laundry.)

The group turns to face Sam. Gracie, the apparent spokesperson, says, "Mr. Sam, can you come out and play with us?" Sam clears his throat to answer—"Oh! And your friend can come too."

Again, Sam goes to speak but Chase is faster. "Is she your girlfriend?"

Andy hears silence as Sam waits for any more questions. She feels a little like a middle-schooler as her heart picks up, waiting for his answer. In five minutes, she will probably think it's funny that the first people he acknowledges their relationship to are the neighborhood kids. Sam clears his throat and her focus snaps back to him. She walks out in time to hear his answer. "Yes, she is my girlfriend. Her name is Andy."

"She's pretty," Bob says shyly.

Sam flashes a smile at her over his shoulder and she grins back at him. "She is pretty." He turns back again. "And I'm sorry, but I can't play today. But!" he says quickly, cutting off their groans. "I am going to be around a lot for the next few weeks, so I'll be able to play more often, okay?"

They reluctantly accept this and start heading for the door. Sam sees them out, teasing the smiles back onto their faces and calling out shooting tips to the kids waiting in the street. He finally closes the door and notices the look on Andy's face. "What?"

"You should go play with them. They were so sad!"

Sam shakes his head and follows her back to the kitchen. "You are such a pushover, McNally. They'll be fine. Besides, I spend enough time with all those kids—I've earned the right to say no once in a while."

Andy hops up on the counter, tries to picture Sam playing freeze tag and fails. "Really?"

"Really. Every time I'm doing something outside, there's at least one kid sitting there, asking questions, talking my ear off. A lot like you, actually." Andy rolls her eyes and hooks her fingers in Sam's waistband, tugs him closer. "And I swear, if my truck is parked outside for more than eight hours, there's someone at my door. I'm guessing the only reason we weren't visited before now is their parents noticed I'd been gone and held them off for as long as possible."

Andy finds herself delighted with this new piece of information. "That is adorable," she pronounces, slides her arms around his neck.

He holds back a grin and looks serious, shaking his head. "Don't read too much into it. They're good kids and I like 'em, but I'm not that guy, Andy."

She kisses the corner of his mouth. "It's sweet. They like you and you're nice to them. It's nice." He makes a noncommittal noise and tries to get at her mouth, but she pulls back. "Besides, you're exactly that guy."

Off his look she explains, in a murmur, right against his mouth, "You're a good guy, Sam Swarek." He growls, in acknowledgement if not outright concurrence, and she lets him kiss her.

They make out lazily for a time. Finally, Sam pulls back and rests his forehead on her collarbone. She runs her fingers through his hair, quietly waiting. She feels his eyelashes brush her skin before he looks up. "I don't suppose food and coffee magically appeared while we were asleep?"

"Actually," she slips down and makes for the fridge, "food and coffee magically appeared while _you _slept."

He looks down at the carton of juice she shoved at him ("Cran-Tangerine" according to the label). "You went to the store? Did you take the truck?"

"Yes and yes and no, I didn't damage it," she answers what she can tell he's wondering, even with her head in the cupboard.

"I wasn't going to ask." He sets the items on the counter as she pulls them out.

"So you've decided to trust me? About damn time." She grins when he bumps her hip and turns to start measuring ingredients.

His eyebrows draw together. "Oh yeah," he drawls, gathering her hair in one hand. "I routinely walk into dangerous situations with only you for backup, but I'm just now learning to trust you." He kisses the back of her neck.

Andy turns her head, inviting him to kiss her mouth. He eagerly accepts. Andy laughingly ends the kiss when he tries to deepen it. "Sam! Do I have to kick you out of the kitchen if I wanna finish this?"

"You're gonna kick me out of my own kitchen?" Then before she can answer, "What am I saying? Of course you would. You'd shoot me with my own gun if I stood between you and food."

"Jerk," she mutters, knocking her hips back against his, but he grabs them and catches her earlobe between his teeth. "Sam," she warns.

"Okay, okay," he laughs, stepping back and sliding his hands up to her shoulders. "How about if I help? That'd be good?"

"Yeah. You can start frying up some bacon if you want it," she says absently, thinking over his comment. She _had_ taken over his kitchen, and his house. But this relationship is not unfolding in a way that Andy is at all familiar with. Getting him food seemed natural because she had been doing it as a matter of course for the past two years. She never considered that those instincts might seem smothering in the context of a new romantic relationship.

"Nothing like waking up to find a beautiful woman making you breakfast," Sam says and when she looks over, he's smiling at her gently because apparently he can read her mind. So she crosses the kitchen to take his face in her hands and kiss him thoroughly. "What was that for?"

It was because since the beginning she hasn't been afraid as long as he was there. But she isn't ready to say it out loud so she smiles instead. Sam's dimples crease in a smile before he kisses her again.

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><p>They sit at the small table in the kitchen, eating bacon and banana pancakes. Andy's pretty sure some of the pancakes are not cooked all the way through, but when she asked, Sam quickly shook his head and stuffed more in his mouth as if to prove it. Now he sits making faces at her as she dips her bacon in maple syrup.<p>

"So," Sam clears his throat. "What do you want to do today?"

Andy cocks her head at him. "What do I want to do?" she repeats. She has no idea how to answer this question, so she asks, "What would you normally do?"

"'Normally,' McNally, I'd fix things around the house on my day off, clean, work on the truck, whatever. But I'm looking at a month with nothing to do, so. That stuff can wait."

"But what do you do just for yourself, you know?"

"I sleep. What do _you _do with your time off?"

"The same, I guess," she admits, gathering up their plates. She drops them in the sink with a groan. "What are we going to do without work?"

"I have no idea," he smirks, pulling her into his lap and wrapping his arms around her middle. "But we'll survive."

Andy leans her head back to rest against his cheek with a sigh. "And in the meantime, we have no idea what to do for the rest of the day."

Sam brushes her hair back and presses his mouth to her ear. "We don't have to do anything. We can just stay here," his voice drops and his hands start tracing up her sides, "watch TV. Take a nap," his kisses under her ear.

She hums a contented noise and wriggles into his lap. She's enjoying the attention he's paying her neck but makes herself speak. "Don't you think that…we're doing this wrong?"

Sam freezes, his hands going still on her ribs. "Uh, wha—" he clears his throat. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Andy struggles for words, plays with his fingers. "Aren't you worried that this is like…going on vacation. You know, you spend a week away from your real life, have a great time, become this whole different person. And then you go home and…it's like it never happened."

"You're worried that this is vacation?" Sam asks in a quiet voice. "And that when we go back to work it gonna be, what? Awkward?"

"Or something?" Andy's voice is a little higher than normal and she still won't look at him. Her thoughts come tumbling out: "Like maybe we've done everything backwards and don't have a solid foundation and it's not going to hold up?"

"Andy." Sam pulls her face around to look at him. His face is serious, but there's a hint of a smile. "Do you really think that this relationship doesn't have a base?"

The tension slowly leaves her face and she smiles softly. "No, I guess not."

"But you're not wrong about the whole vacation thing. We skipped some steps that I think I'd like to do, even if we don't need them." He's wearing the look she's starting to recognize as him just wanting to make her happy. "So, how about, the end of our first week back, after shift, I take you out?"

He pulls back when Andy suddenly gasps, sits up and spins around, nearly kneeing him in the chin as throws a leg over to straddle him. "You mean you're gonna take me out on a real date?" She's excited—they've never done anything that wasn't affected by their professional lives.

Sam's grinning. "That's the idea, yeah." He fingers the ends of her hair, studies her face. "We'll get a real dinner, somewhere with tablecloths."

Andy's smile is bright. "I'd really like that. And in the time we have before you take me back to Traci's," she slides her hands over his chest and a smile creeps across Sam's face, "a nap sounds great."

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><p><strong>Please review! Tell me what works, what doesn't, etc. Remember: THINGS happen next.<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Oh boy, I am so SO sorry for the extraordinarily long time between updates. I'd like to tell you all that it won't happen again, but chances are, it will. All the time. But know that this story is never far from my mind! When I started this story I was an unemployed, recent college graduate. But now I'm employed so...But I still don't have much of a life and therefore will continue this story! And thank you, thank you, thank you for those of you sticking with it. I hope it lives up to it. Special thanks to those of you who have been reviewing. ****Fair warning: this chapter is post-grace period and therefore very different than the rest.**

**Disclaimer: I'm looking into it, but I still don't own Sam Swarek. Or anyone else.**

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><p>"I don't wanna live a life of moderation! I walk around like I'm a millionaire. If you're wonderin' about my situation…allllll…you need…to know..." Andy dances around the living room, singing. In the past two weeks plus, she's settled into a routine that makes her feel like a productive member of society. She wakes up, runs, eats, showers and tidies her new apartment. She's now reached the part of her day that serves as her "happy time" when she acts like a lunatic before heading out to run errands. She likes being in a good mood when she faces the rest of the world.<p>

The suspension hasn't been all bad. She moved into her new place at the beginning and spent a week getting everything set up the way she wants it. Chris and Dov helped her move in and Traci helped her decorate. Other than that, she hasn't seen much of her friends. She misses them but understands that in this weather, everyone wants to camp out inside their warm homes when they don't have to work.

Mostly, she misses Sam. She missed him when he was undercover and the few days she had with him weren't exactly long enough for her to get sick of him. (Two years hasn't been enough time for her to get sick of him.) She thinks back to the last moments of their 48 hour grace period.

_Before they leave the house, they do one more walk around, looking for anything she might have forgotten. Andy swore she was ready to go fifteen minutes ago, but when Sam insisted on taking another look around he found her wallet. So they're looking around again. Finally, they both stand in the middle of the living room. "I think we're good to go," Sam announces, jingling his keys in his pocket._

"_Yeah, I guess," Andy sighs, meeting Sam's eyes sadly. _

_He laughs and slings an arm around her waist, towing her towards the door. "Come on."_

_When he reaches for the doorknob, Andy grabs his hand. "Wait. Before we go, I just-I just want to say thank you. You know, for letting me stay here and making me feel better and-thank you."_

_Sam touches her face gently. "Andy. Do you really think I didn't need you to be here?"_

_Despite having been on top for the past 48 hours and the stitches on his face, it's easy for her to forget what he's been through. She cups his jaw and thumbs his cheekbone. She reads a million things in his eyes and they all light a fire in her belly. She kisses him fiercely, mouth opening and he cups her skull. They kiss as if they get close enough, they can take a part of the other when they stop._

_Andy presses a knee to his hip and he pulls back to speak breathlessly. "If we don't leave now, McNally, we are going to end up back in bed and then we'll have all the time in the world cuz we'll be unemployed. So you wanna keep going or are you going to move your hand?"_

_Andy groans and drops her hands. "Fine. Let's go." They head for the truck._

_He opens her door for her and kisses her before her shuts it. After he starts the truck, they reach for each other at the same time and lace fingers tightly._

_Her chest aches more the further away the get from Sam's and she clutches his hand harder. Sam had been telling her about his plans for the coming month but he stops and squeezes her hand. At a red light, he looks over and the tension in his face mirrors her own. He shakes his head with a laughing sigh. "We're being stupid, aren't we?"_

_She thumps her head against the seat. "Yes. God, I feel dumb. I'm just going to miss you."_

_"Yeah, me too, McNally. But it's just a month."_

_"It would probably be easier if we weren't also in trouble," Andy says, sounding exactly like a four year old in trouble._

_"We're not in trouble, McNally. We're just...learning our lesson."_

_"Oh, okay," she says sarcastically. "And we're here."_

_"Yup," Sam takes the keys out and waits. "You ready to go?"_

_Andy leans across the console and kisses him with a touch of desperation. He returns her kiss, arms pressing her closer. They break the kiss and keep their foreheads pressed together. After a long moment, Andy slides back into her seat. "Now I'm ready."_

_They walk up to Traci's door holding hands. When they reach it, Sam drops her bag on the concrete and turns to face her. He gets a hand in her hair and his mouth open before the porch light flicks on and the door swings open._

"_Hey," Traci greets them brightly. "How's it going?"_

_Andy grimaces as she faces her friend, but Sam just slides his hand down her back and smiles, pulling her against his side. "Great," he answers. "Just dropping her off—on time. Now you don't have to lie when Noelle asks you tomorrow."_

_Suddenly, Jerry appears behind Traci. "Sammy! Glad you're finally here. I think these ladies probably need a little alone time, wanna grab a drink with me?"_

_Sam nods, choosing not to comment on the convenient coincidence of Jerry's presence. "Sounds good." He turns to Andy, ducks to make sure she's looking. "I'll see you later, okay?" She nods and he presses his lips to her forehead, holding her against him a fraction too long. _

"_Okay, Romeo, let's get going," Jerry claps Sam on the back, dragging him down the walk when he finally pulls away. Before Traci shuts the door, Sam looks over his shoulder and gives Andy a small smile that makes her shiver. _

Andy smiles as she remembers the feel of him against her. Less than two weeks until she can see him again. And return to her job. The thought makes her even happier than the crazy dancing. Feeling motivated to face the world, she turns off the stereo. Silence fills the room.

Suddenly, a loud, echoing noise tears through the silence, followed immediately by the sound of shattering glass. Andy stands frozen for what feels like an eternity until a hole splinters the wall across from her. As more shots tear into her apartment, she drops to the floor and crawls into the kitchen. Bracing up against the protection of the dishwasher, she debates trying to get to the lockbox in her room. But the sounds of splintering wood and bullets ricocheting convince her to stay put. Instead she digs her phone out of her pocket and punches in a number.

"911, where is your emergency?"

"Berkely and Gerrard. This is Officer Andy McNally, badge number 8722. Shots are being fired into my residence from outside. Please send units.

"My apartment is in the northeast corner, fourth floor. It appears the shots are coming from a somewhere to the north, nearly level with my apartment, but I can't be sure where." Suddenly, the noise stops and Andy's ears ring from the emptiness. She quickly looks around to make sure she is concealed from any outside view. "The shooting appears to have stopped, at least for the moment. I believe it was a high caliber semi-automatic and all of the shots seemed to have hit my apartment and I am uninjured but there may have been stray shots and other injuries." Andy took a deep breath, fairly certain she'd given all the necessary information.

The dispatcher confirmed her address and the fact that she was uninjured before saying, "Units are on their way. Would you like me to stay on the line until they arrive?"

Andy shook her head, forgetting she was alone. "No, thank you, but could you patch me through to Sgt. Best?"

"Sure thing."

Andy collects her breath and presses her shaking hand to her trembling knees as she attempts to articulate her concern before her boss answers.

"Best, here."

"Sergeant Best, it's Andy McNally. I don't know if you heard the call come through, but someone just shot up my apartment."

Literally seconds before the phone rang Frank caught something about "shots fired" and "officer involved" come through the communications channel piped into his office, but he had been finishing a letter and hadn't had time to check the info monitor before the phone rang. He grabs it now and swears internally. "I'm up to date, McNally," he informs her as he stands and reaches for his coat. "And I'm on my way."

"Sarge, wait. Please." Frank files that away to smile at later, that she's still so polite in the middle of a legitimate crisis. "The attack seems to me to be planned and targeted at me and, since I don't have enough of a life to have made any personal enemies, I can only assume it's someone I pissed off on the job."

Franks starts to interrupt her, "McNally we can discuss who might be behind it once we get you secure-" but she cuts him off.

"Sir, my point is, if this is about a case I've worked, then Sam's probably in trouble too. He's been my TO and my partner for most of my career." Best can hear her steeling herself to add, "And if this is in anyway connected to Jamie Brennan..."

"Got it, McNally. And that's a good thought. I'll send someone over to check on Sam and bring him in before I head over to you."

"Thank you, sir," she says on a relieved exhale.

"And you are okay, right?"

"Yup," she answers even though they both know it's a lie.

Frank sighs and presses the end button before dialing out.

"Hey, boss," Oliver answers immediately. "I'm on my way over to McNally's now."

"It's gonna have to wait. I need you to track down Swarek and bring him in." Frank quickly explains his worries. "I know others have worked with her but they're all currently uniformed, armed and wearing bulletproof vests."

"Plus, Sammy is the likely candidate," Oliver adds.

"That too."

"Yeah, no problem, brother. Just keep me updated, will ya?"

"Will do." Frank heads out the door, trying to convince himself things like this happened at 15 before Andy McNally started working here.

* * *

><p>Sam stands in his kitchen with a trash bag at his feet. It's filled with broken pens, old messages, multiple copies of the same takeout menus and other junk that's gotten shoved into drawers over the years. He'd already cleaned his bathroom, floors, car, and windows and was now looking for anything to keep him occupied. He is not a man made to relax.<p>

When his doorbell rings, he steps around the wreckage of his kitchen and heads to the door. He's making mental lists when he opens the door and sees who is calling on him.

"Ollie," he says with surprise but happiness. Then he takes in the whole picture. "Why are you standing on my porch in full uniform?"

"Sammy, let me in, brother." Oliver keeps glancing over his shoulder at the street.

"Oliver, what's going on? Just tell me." Sam's voice is tight with rising anxiousness.

"I will, I will. Just let me in, Sammy. We shouldn't be standing out here."

The last part doesn't go unnoticed by his copper senses, but he waits until the door closes behind Oliver before speaking. "What the hell is going on?"

Oliver runs a hand down his face before holding it up in anticipation of calming his friend. "Now listen. Everyone is fine, okay? Do you hear me, she's fine, but we got a call from McNally."

Sam's face is terrible and his voice dangerous. "What. Happened?"

Oliver sighs. "Shots were fired. We don't know by who, but it looks personal. Which is why-" his voice rises and he steps in front of Sam, who has his keys and jacket in his hands "-which is why you are coming with me. Sam, if this is related to a case, then you're probably in danger. We gotta get you somewhere safe."

Sam keeps heading for the door. "Not until I see her."

"Goddammit, Sam. Think. You can't go down there, you're not a cop right now. Okay? And you're at risk. Besides, she's fine, she's surrounded by cops right now. There's nothing you can do." Oliver puts a restraining hand in the middle of Sam's chest, pushing like he means it.

Sam stops, straightens, entire body rigid. "I am not a cop right now, which is _exactly _why I need to be there." His voice is tight with contained fury and something else, something that tugs at the hearts and flowers part of Oliver's judgment.

"Yeah, fine," Oliver sighs. "But if you're going down there, you're riding with me. That way, if someone decides to take a shot at you, you won't crash your car and take pedestrians out with you when you die."

Sam is too tense to roll his eyes, just nods assent and heads out the door. His jaw is clenched the entire ride and he looks out the window but Oliver can tell he's not seeing anything.

"Sam," Oliver sighs again, "she's fine."

Sam turns to face his friend, the force of his anger palpable. (Oliver knows it's not directed at him, flinches anyway.) "Do you know that? Do you know that for sure?" he demands, voice rising. "Just because she said she wasn't hit when she called doesn't mean that she's not hurt or scared. Or that someone hasn't since shot her. Or is waiting there, watching her for another chance to kill her." He breaks off, too angry or too upset to finish, Oliver can't tell, but guesses both.

"I know," Oliver says quietly. He can imagine how he'd feel knowing someone watched Zoe through their living room window for a chance to kill her, knows how he feels about it happening to McNally and he's not quite as invested in her (close though, he sees his daughters when he looks at her). "We'll make her safe, Sammy, we will."

Sam squeezes Oliver's shoulder and they nod at each other, a kind of seated man-hug. Still, when they arrive at Andy's building, Sam is out of the cruiser before they've even stopped, ducking under yellow tape and scanning the hordes of uniforms for her. No one tries to stop him, some even hurriedly shuffle out of his way.

Finally, he sees her standing in the doorway to her building, arms tight around her middle, giving her statement to one of the detectives. He breaks into a jog, heart lightening as he calls her name.

Her head lifts when she hears him. "Sam!" she yells, forgetting the detective. The man steps back when she launches herself down the stairs, slamming into Sam at the bottom.

He catches her, gathers her against him, crushing her with relief. "Andy," he breathes into her hair, "are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," her voice comes out muffled against his shoulder. He presses his face into her hair and looks up at the sky, thinking grateful prayers to a god he's not sure he believes in.

He breathes in the smell of her shampoo and hugs her a little tighter. He feels the truth in her body, but lets her lie to herself. "I know you are, but _I'm _not. So. Can you just—give me a minute here?"

He feels her nod and work loose a hand that's trapped between their chests so she can hug around his waist. He holds her until his heart rate settles down and he feels her relax against him. Satisfied neither of them is dead, he releases her.

He brushes her hair back and asks in a voice too low for the other officers to hear, "Are you sure you're okay?"

Andy nods automatically, biting her lip. She looks up at him with wide eyes. "Sam, that just—it was so scary."

Sam instantly pulls her back into a hug. "I know, sweetheart, I know."

"I mean…it's my home, Sam, my _home_." Tears are creeping into her voice, like the adrenaline is finally wearing off and she's starting to come undone. Sam wants to make her feel better, make her feel safe—his body is already curled around her, like a shield. But Andy pushes herself upright and wipes at her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm being silly."

"No. You're not." Sam frowns at her a little bit. "Someone just tried to kill you. You're allowed to be upset."

"I'm a cop—if no one wants to kill me, I'm probably not doing my job." When Sam narrows his eyes and starts to point out no one else has been attacked at their home, she rolls her eyes. "Okay, but I can't fall apart right now, not in front of everyone. Not after everything that just happened."

Sam gets it and even loves her a little bit for refusing to fall apart. But he still warns her, "Yeah, but you're talking to me about this later, alright? I mean it, McNally, you can't just shelve this and pretend it didn't happen—that's the way to end up eating your own gun."

Andy nods once. "Okay."

"Okay?" He means it as a statement, but it comes as a question, his forehead furrowing. He's suspicious of how quickly she agreed, wary, even. But it's the answer he wanted so he lets it go.

"So what happens next?" She's looking at him like she used to way back in the beginning when she had no real idea how to be a cop, like he's seen it all and has all the answers. He hasn't really been involved in something like this, but that look makes him want to have prior experience.

"We'll see what they want to do with us, I guess." They start walking back towards Oliver, Sam respecting the distance she's carefully maintaining. "Shaw said Best was coming down here?"

"Yeah," Andy confirms. "He checked on me and then started talking to the ballistics guy. I think they're still up in my apartment."

They reach Oliver then. "How you doing, McNally?"

"I'm fine," she answers, like she's trying to convince all of them.

"Yeah, yeah, you will be," he pats her on the shoulder. "Scary stuff, huh? I'm glad to see you didn't get hit."

Andy's eyebrows draw down. "I don't know how. I mean, it's weird, right? Someone goes through all that trouble to get a shot at me and they _miss_?"

"Speaking of," Sam interrupts, eyes scanning the roofline, "we shouldn't be making targets of ourselves here. Let's get in the cruiser 'til Frank comes out." He opens the door for Andy, subtly shielding her with his body before sliding in the back. Andy doesn't notice, too busy turning over her latest theory.

Her thinking is interrupted by a burst of laughter from Oliver. She looks up at him, but his eyes are on the rearview mirror looking at Sam. "Well if this doesn't familiar. Symmetry, I'm telling ya: life is symmetrical."

Andy debates trying to hide in her seat, but Sam says, "So you're telling me your hair's gonna find its way back onto your head, then?"

Andy is already grinning in anticipation of the clever and cutting thing Oliver is going to say in response, hopefully revealing some of Sam's weaknesses, but he's cut off by the back door opening and a half-serious, "Cut it out, children," as Frank slides in.

"Boss," Oliver and Sam greet him with nods. Andy smiles tentatively.

Frank relaxes against the seat. "Well, shit. How do you get yourself into these things, McNally?"

She manages to ungracefully turn in her seat to face back. Oliver grimaces and reaches out to steady his computer after she clips it. "I have no friggin' clue. Sir." As all three men look at her with patient (and slightly disbelieving) gazes, like mothers waiting for their small child to crack and admit to spilling the Kool-Aid staining the carpet and her shirt, Andy throws her hands in the air. "Seriously! I have no idea who did this."

Sam clears his throat but Frank speaks first. "Really? You can't think of anyone pissed off enough to shoot at you?"

She's annoyed now. "Of course I can think of someone. But the person who immediately comes to mind, one, is behind bars, and two, could have killed me much more easily and quietly before this. So."

Frank grimaces at the reminder of how close he came to losing an officer execution-style but Andy's eyes are on Sam. She never told him that Brennan picked her up and from the look on his face, no one else did either. She can see him piece some things together and then several emotions flit across his face, starting with fear and concern and ending with what looks like anger. Andy sighs to herself, mourning the loss of their happy reunion. She catches his eyes and pours all of her apologies into her eyes. The look he returns is not annoyed like she expected, but cold and emotionless in a way that makes her panic.

"Alright," Frank pronounces, bringing everyone's attention back to the problem at hand, "here's what we're going to do. I called Superintendent Peck, since there isn't a whole lot of precedence for this situation. We've decided to stash you two in one of the safe houses in town for a bit, until we can come up with a more concrete plan. Once we get an idea of how to handle this, we'll put you both back to work, probably not on the streets, but either with the detectives or maybe working your own case. However, that will be contingent on both of you following the rules and procedures that will be put in place for your safety. Starting with: do not leave the safe house. Do not open the door to anyone you do not recognize. And we have to put both of you together, but this is not an opportunity for you to play house. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir," they both answer, quietly.

Frank looks back and forth between the two of them, unsure what could have possibly happened since he saw them wrapped around each other through the window. Decides he doesn't care. "Okay then. We'll send someone to each of your places to grab stuff. Shaw, will you take them to House 11?" Oliver nods and Frank goes to open the door. Realizes it has fallen shut and he's in the back. "And let me out of this friggin' car?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Super nervous about how this one is going to be received, so please, please, please, review and let me know. Thank you and love you!**


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